All Hallows' Hook
by blacksilkrose123
Summary: In the wake of losing Neal, Emma wants nothing more than to spend a night of trick-or-treating alone at home, but a certain pirate has other ideas. CS Halloween fluff. One-shot.


**A/N: I know this is a day late, but I hope the story makes up for it! And, just a heads up, it takes place after they return from Neverland. Filled to the brim with all sorts of fluff. Enjoy! **

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Emma stared at herself in the mirror. Hard.

Her fingers came up to idly comb through the tangles in her damp hair. She squinted at herself before grabbing at her cheeks and pulling them back. Like a child. Heaven knew she didn't feel like a child. After everything, she felt old. Senile, even. And had she gone to any other therapist but Dr. Hopper, they would have happily agreed with her as they sent her on her merry way to a padded cell. Not that she _had_ gone to him—she would have been the talk of the town. And that was not what she needed right now.

If anything, she needed a vacation.

Just…not to Disney World. God, anywhere but there.

"_Mom!_"

"In here!" she called back, glancing at herself one last time—_damn, were those shadows under her eyes?!_—before traipsing out of her bedroom door and hurrying down the stairs.

One look at Henry, however, and she halted dead in her tracks, her momentum nearly carrying her the rest of the way down the stairs on her ass.

"You have got to be kidding me," she mumbled under her breath, appraising her son as she quickly collected her wits. Henry stood, tall (or as tall as a ten-year-old could be) and proud, in what appeared to be knee-high boots, tight leather pants, a flowing white poet's shirt, leather vest, and sword strapped to his waist. But that wasn't where her horror even began. Dread flared up at the sight of the eye patch, the black bandana wrapped around his forehead, and the stuffed parrot he'd taken great care to sew onto his shoulder himself. But most of all, her heart stopped when she caught sight of the large, curved garden hook protruding from his left sleeve. He had dismantled the tool from its handle and had used black tape to temporarily fuse the hook in his grip, effectively hiding his hand beneath what appeared to be an entire roll of duct tape, wasted.

"Mom, isn't it _great_?!" Henry exclaimed, twirling in a circle with his arms wide and outstretched. His sword, sticking out awkwardly from where he'd stuffed it through his belt, crashed into the small table set at the foot of the stairs. The vase on top wobbled precariously. Having not quite gotten used to his newly melded appendage, Henry tried to catch the china but he merely knocked it aside with the hook. Emma winced before it even collided with the floor. It shattered into a million pieces. Just like her hope of Henry growing up normal. And without the influence of a certain Killian Jones.

Henry just stared. "I—I didn't mean to—"

"It's alright, kid," Emma waved him off and gestured towards the pieces. "I didn't like it either."

He glanced up at her, unsure of her sarcasm before he finally cracked a hesitant smile. Emma was careful to dodge the pieces with her bare feet before gently guiding Henry away from the mess. She led him to the kitchen's barstool and stepped back, folding her arms. Her eyes raked over him one more time before sighing. "Please tell me you got your inspiration from _Treasure Island_."

Henry just cocked a brow in cool patience, so desperate to act older than he really was. Emma half wondered if she had been that way at her age.

Who was she kidding? Her eyes softened. Of course she had.

The foster system had not exactly allowed for youthful naivety. Or a childhood. She had grown up, so much sooner than she hoped Henry ever would. Despite his adult-like speculations, though, he still had that air of innocence and belief about him that she had grown to love.

"Please tell me you aren't going as _that_," he fired back, staring pointedly at her black tank top, gray, holy sweatpants, and damp, wavy hair.

"Henry, this isn't a costume," she said patiently.

"Okay, _good_, because I would _never_ hear the end of it."

It was Emma's turn for her eyebrows to shoot up. "What does that mean?"

Henry rolled his eyes and ignored her, as if he had already made his point. "You know grandma and grandpa are going to be here any minute."

Emma opened the nearest door and began rooting around in the hallway closet for a broom. "Yeah, and what are they going as? Snow White and Prince Charming?"

"Well, actually…"

"How original," Emma snorted, shoving some coats out of the way to grab at the broom handle before jerking it out.

The doorbell rang.

Emma shot one last look at Henry, who was busy adjusting his stuffed parrot, before she wrestled the door open. Mary Margaret and David beamed at her, arm in arm, dressed to the nines in royal attire. Though she had a feeling their outfits were tailored by the local $29.99 costume rack as opposed to the finest silk in _all the fucking kingdoms._ Emma felt something in her stomach pinch before she slapped on a smile, careful to lower her raised brows. "Wow, you guys look—"

"_Awesome!_" Henry exclaimed, brushing past Emma to compare his sword with David's real one.

Mary Margaret's face fell at the sight of Emma. And the broom in hand. "_Please_ tell me you aren't going as some modern-day version Cora."

Emma glanced at Henry, keeping her voice down. "I'm pretty sure her character _rhymes_ with witch, but no. I figured you guys could enjoy some time with Henry. You know, do the whole 'grandparent' thing with him."

"Emma, I thought the point of this was to make it a '_family_' thing."

"Taking a kid for a walk so he can become a pre-diabetic is hardly my idea of us all bonding."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Emma, it's Halloween! Isn't this tradition? Dressing up and taking your child trick-or-treating?"

"Yeah, but the idea is to be someone you're _not_," Emma stared pointedly at Mary Margaret's costume.

Her mother ignored her. "You haven't spent much time with Henry since we've gotten him back. You…and Neal…fought so…hard for him, and now it's as if you can't wait to have him out of the house. Charming and I don't mind taking him every now and then, but, Emma, sweetie, he's your _son_."

"And he was Neal's, too," Emma snapped. "But that doesn't mean he got to live, does it?" Her breath hitched. "I'm still figuring out how to," she paused, searching for the word, "_deal_ with all of this. I feel like every minute of every day I'm around him, I have to keep it together. But Neal _loved_ me, and after everything, I _still_ felt something for him. And it's great, you know, that you live in a world of Happily Ever Afters, but that's not how it worked out for me. You found a way to save David. But I didn't. I couldn't save him," her voice broke. "You two always find a way, but Mom," she cracked, "I couldn't find _our_ way. Not in time. It wasn't enough. _I_ wasn't enough."

Mary Margaret's face fell at the sight of her daughter's reddening face and eyes welling with tears. Her fingers twitched, as if she were restraining herself from reaching out and touching her. Comforting her. "Oh, Emma. You know that isn't true. You _will_ find your Happily Ever After, I'm just so sorry it wasn't with Neal. You did your best, and he would want you to be happy," her eyes flitted over to an anxious Henry who was beginning to pace up to Emma with David in tow. "Just come out with us, please, and we can talk about this later."

"I've dealt with enough monsters for a lifetime, and I don't need to see a hundred more running around the town. I just…need this night in," she sighed, "_please_." She felt her eyes hollowing, and could see her mother searching her face. Mary Margaret was afraid. For her daughter. Emma offered her a forced smile, "I'll be fine. Promise. We'll…carve a pumpkin or something when you guys get back. Okay?" She directed her attention to Henry, whose parrot, in his excitement, had fallen sideways on his shoulder. He had removed the hook, no doubt an order by David so he wouldn't poke his eye out, but he was just beginning to cram it onto his right hand when Emma crouched down to eye level.

She smiled sadly down at his hand. "Goes on your left, buddy," she offered without thinking. The words, having already escaped, left her throat dry and cold. She couldn't _believe_ she'd just said that. But Henry just grinned appreciatively, carefully re-taping the garden tool onto his left as instructed.

"Do I look okay, Emma?"

"Yeah." _Minus the parrot, bandana, and eye patch, you look just like him. _"Go have fun, kid." She tousled his head playfully before climbing back to her feet.

"Emma, are you sure you don't want us to stay with you? I'm sure Red wouldn't mind—"

"Seriously, you're going to turn into a pumpkin if you guys don't head out soon. I have some stuff to do anyway," she breezed through the lie. "Paperwork to get caught up on. The town moved on while we were gone, you know. I have a job to do."

Mary Margaret nodded, her hands falling to Henry's shoulder as she steered him towards the door. David began to follow before pausing next to Emma, his fatherly gaze taking her in. "We're here for you, Emma, if you ever need anything."

Emma had to swallow back a snappish retort. The only thing her parents had done since they had returned to Storybrooke was flutter incessantly around her with sad eyes and pouting lips and open arms that she would never run to. Not now. She needed space. She needed _him._ Her heart froze, though, ice cracking around her veins as she realized it wasn't Neal's face that had suddenly popped into her head. And it _was_ quite suddenly. She had hardly given him a thought since they had returned weeks ago, and keeping herself locked up tight in the apartment or station had her on strict quarantine from any socialization. From any chance of their lips accidentally crashing into one another. Again.

She leaned against the wall, still clutching the broom, as they exited the apartment, Henry chattering up a storm in a desperately failed attempt to mimic pirate lingo. And Hook's accent.

Emma was just beginning to sweep up the pieces when her phone buzzed from a text message. From Mary Margaret. _Figures._ Rather than read it, she decided to shut her phone off, setting it back on the counter. The woman would have to learn the meaning of "distance" sooner or later. Emma glanced down at the broken pieces of china. Something deep inside clenched at her heart. She felt her body go rigid with trepidation. Her lungs seized up and she found she could not breathe for the overwhelming coldness that was steadily overtaking her. Her locked knees gave out. She fell to her ankles, the broom clattering beside her as she reached out and picked up a piece of broken vase. The edges, so jagged and cruel, reminded her of the knife she had had stuck in her heart for a while now. Try as she might, she could not pull it out. Emma bit her lip, desperate to keep her jaw from quivering. She closed her fingers over the china and folded her arms over her knees. She bent her head down in a silent prayer, mouth open but useless. No matter how many breaths she tried to take, she could not erase the fact that Neal was not there. And he never would be.

_God_, she shuddered, _some savior I turned out to be. I can't even pick up the pieces for my son. _She tilted her head to the side so her temple rested idly on her forearm. Her eyes felt hot, but thankfully no tears had been shed. As if a blockade of frost was damming up every emotion from physically touching her.

A sudden knock on the door tore Emma from her thoughts. She frowned, twisting on the balls of her feet to glance at the space beneath the frame. Two dark shadows waited patiently for her to answer.

Emma flinched when another knock echoed loudly in the apartment. _Okay, maybe not so patiently._ She pulled herself to her feet, grabbed the broom, and made her way to the door, jerking on the knob. "Mary Margaret, I told you, I'm—"

Whatever retort she had been saving was promptly swallowed before allowing her mouth to fall open wide. Finally, she said the only thing she could think of. "_You._"

"Me," the pirate before her grinned, giving her his best devil-may-care look.

Emma blinked, instantly straightening. On guard. She did a quick once-over of his attire, which was surprisingly normal. A black t-shirt clung snuggly to his arms and abdomen. A pair of tight-fitted jeans left little to the imagination in regards to curves and his…endowment. The denim, however, disappeared into his familiar, knee-high boots. He looked relatively normal and un-Hook-like, barring his piercings and tattoos. And the damn eyeliner.

"So I take it you've decided to be Cinderella? And, by the look of things," he directed his gaze pointedly from her broom to the old, hole-infested pants she was wearing, "I've arrived just in time to save you from a lowly life of servant-hood and conversing with rats."

"You just missed them," she dismissed his rant coldly.

"Considering the person I am in search of is standing before me, I highly doubt that."

Emma's eyes narrowed at this. "I'm not going trick-or-treating, so you can hightail your costumed ass out of here. Goodnight." She started to shut the door but the hinges squeaked in protest. She glanced down. His boot was wedged hard between the crack.

"I had a lovely run-in with your mother. She simply _begged_ I join her team of reinforcements."

"And what team is that?"

"Well, I do believe your son was blathering on about an 'Operation Emma' or something or other. Regardless, I offered my humble services rather than participate in All Hallows' Eve."

"Isn't that just like you, taking one for the team," Emma grumbled, still bearing her weight against the door. Her mind quickly backtracked. "Wait a second, my _mom_ sent you?" Emma felt her resolve slipping—emotionally and physically. Her shoulder slid down the door a ways as she gave a quick jerk of her head. "Fantastic."

"My sentiments exactly." Emma glanced up to find him peaking his head through the crack. Beaming at her. Smug bastard. "Besides, I've never been one to play the part of someone I'm not, love. This...treat or tricking is beneath a man of my stature. I'm sure you would agree."

"Get out."

"No."

"_Move._"

"If you insist," and he promptly barged his way through the door, Emma's weight effectively slamming the frame shut just as he slipped through. She stumbled but quickly righted herself, glaring daggers at Hook who was taking in his surroundings with a cocked brow.

"No pirates allowed," she growled.

He turned his bent brow on her and something inside melted. Just slightly. "Good thing I'm not a pirate tonight then, eh?"

Baffled, Emma shook her head. "You just said—"

"What the bloody hell happened to your vase?" He paced towards the wreckage, gesturing at it with his hook. Emma stared at his hand. She realized she had never seen him in short sleeves, a wardrobe choice which showed off his hook and its leather-bound encasement. What shocked her further was that she had hardly _noticed_ his hook. As if she was becoming desensitized to who he was, the physical embodiment of revenge.

"The universe must be punishing me," Emma groaned as she eased off the door, following Hook but staying a safe distance back. "First, my son decides to be Hook reincarnated, and then the original product shows up at my door. Lucky me."

"It's a gift few are bestowed with," Hook agreed, eyes still surveying the damage strewn about her floor.

"Not that I ever want to discourage your sense of self-confidence, but it's more of a curse."

"Nay, lass, I _know_ curses, and this hardly resembles being trapped inside a bubble with Cora for twenty-eight years. Thanks very much for that, by the way." His boot kicked at a piece of broken china.

Emma grinned. "I hope you suffered every minute of it."

He turned his smoldering gaze on her. Yes, it was smoldering. "It was well worth the wait, love."

She could feel her walls going up, brick by brick, but for once she wasn't sure how high she wanted them. She wasn't sure she wanted them at all. The words were out of her mouth before she could reign them back in. "Time to go." She gestured halfheartedly at the door.

He crossed his arms and leaned his weight back on one foot, steel-blue eyes pinning her with a thousand emotions. A challenge. "I have orders, Swan, that I'm not to let you alone."

"I don't need a babysitter," she snapped. "What I need is _space._ From all of you."

"What you need," Hook snarled unexpectedly, taking a few steps closer, "is an intervention. And I'm bloody-well up for the task. I saved your father, and I can save you. So unless you plan to use your lips for something other than talking," he bared his teeth warningly, "then I suggest you hush and accept your fate."

"My fate wasn't supposed to be _this._"

"I was referring," his voice dropped several octaves, tone taking on an edge she didn't like, "to tonight. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, love. Just because the world went and robbed you of your boy's father doesn't mean it's the end. You aren't the only one who's been forced down a dark path or lost a loved one. You have a choice, though, and as much as I would be _overjoyed_ for it to be me, you have to move _on_, Swan. Your fate _was_ this. That's why they call it fate, lass. You can't escape it, anymore than I can escape…" his voice trailed off, eyes falling down to something that caught his eye, "…your hand."

"My hand?" Blunt. Dripping with sarcasm. She wanted nothing more than to shove him out her door. _Or shove him up against it._

Her heart stopped.

Where had _that_ come from?

Damn, she was losing it.

He reached with his hook to cradle her wrist up, his hand carefully peeling apart her fingers. They were stained read. He winced at the damage. She had completely forgotten about the vase shard, clutched tightly in her hand. Too tightly. "What _exactly_ did that vase do to you, Swan?"

"It got in Henry's way."

Hook glanced up at her from beneath dark, bent brows. His eyes held hers for a moment. She found herself drowning beneath their icy depths. But rather than cold, she felt warmth flooding through her. That look. _That_ look. Was the one that had undone her stomach countless times after that moment in the Dark Jungle. "The lad's more like me than I could have ever hoped for," he chuckled, ignoring the blackened look she shot him.

Minutes later saw Emma seated at the kitchen counter, her arm stretched across into the sink as Hook alternated between gently plucking out fragments of china and drenching her hand with fiery explosions of peroxide. Despite the scenario being repeated in a more familiar environment, Emma was still loathe to have her hand trapped in his with him once again pouring alcohol all over a wound. Of course, he had easily offered his flask of rum but she had quickly darted to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, ignoring his inquiry as to whether they were heading to her bed _so soon, love._ He had held up the bottle, gingerly smelling it before quickly shoving it back at her.

"Bloody hell, that would sear a hole right through your liver."

"That's why you don't drink it," Emma had snapped, tugging the bottle back towards her. But when he had seen she intended to clean the wound herself, he quickly snatched it back and danced out of reach, heading towards where he presumed her bedroom was. She quickly corrected him, steering him away from Mary Margaret's room. Instead, she led him to the kitchen island. Where she sat now, concentrating on a family photo hung on the wall in a feeble attempt to ignore the pain stabbing at her cut.

"Tell me, did you have a particular attachment to the vase?"

"I loved it," she replied sarcastically, her voice a dull monotone.

He raised his brows but kept his eyes on her hand, holding it up to the light by his hook for closer inspection. "I envy the vase."

Emma snorted. "And why's that?"

"Let's just say that," he tugged her wrist closer, eyes finally meeting hers, "even an inanimate bit of china still managed to penetrate you."

Emma stared at him for a moment before his suggestion sunk in. "It was a _cut_," she seethed. She tried to jerk back her hand but he had maneuvered his hook so it caught her wrist every time, yanking her back.

"It was _deep._"

"You need a cold shower," Emma hissed, her voice lost as he dumped another bout of peroxide across her wound, his nails effectively digging at the final shard wedged in her flesh. A fresh stream of blood pooled at the intrusion and Emma had to turn her head away, suddenly nauseous. Though she preferred to blame it on his innuendos, she had honestly never been a big fan of the sight of blood.

"Care to accompany me, princess?" His lower lip jutted out just so. She wanted to smack that stupid pout off his face. _She wanted to kiss the hell out of it even more._

"Not in this lifetime."

"I've lived over four lifetimes, love. I can wait."

She narrowed her eyes. He had a point. The man did have a lot of practice at patience. Though she somehow doubted he spent those three-hundred years twiddling his thumbs and humming the Beatles peacefully to himself. Emma redirected her attention to her hand which was now drenched in a gruesome shade of ruby-red. Her stomach somersaulted and she could feel the back of her neck prickle. But just as she felt her vision start to fade, Hook gave a low exclamation before guiding her hand beneath the running water, followed, once again, by the peroxide.

After using his teeth and hand to delicately wrap a bandage around the wound, Hook finally released Emma, bracing his weight on the counter's edge as he leaned across the sink at her. She found herself terribly grateful for the counter space between them. She wasn't quite sure what he would do had a giant block of wood not been in their way. She couldn't even be sure what _she_ would do.

Emma gingerly touched at the bandage before looking up. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he waved at her with his hook. His face broke out into a grin, "No really, don't. I have a reputation to uphold. If all the women knew I coddled you like this, I'd bet a shilling they wouldn't bed me for months."

Emma quirked a brow and pulled herself to her feet. "Well as much as I've enjoyed bonding with you and your moral compass, you've got to go."

Hook stealthily made his way around the kitchen island towards Emma, his steps slow and calculating like a predator pursuing its prey. "I have strict orders and I intend to follow them."

"I wasn't aware of these _orders_, so you'll have to get out."

"Your mother sent fair warning. Through that tele-something contraption," he nodded at Emma's phone lying on the counter. _So _that's_ what she had tried to message about._

"You're trespassing on private property. And lucky for you, I'm the sheriff. Don't put it past me to arrest your sorry ass and stick you in jail."

"Do you promise handcuffs will be involved?" He waggled his brows at her.

"Seriously, warning you to get out."

Hook rolled his eyes. "Or you'll what, lass? Bleed all over me? You can hardly—"

In a flash, his head snapped to the side from where her left fist had struck out. He slowly turned neck, rotating his jaw as he cupped it protectively, eyes darkening in amusement. "Good form. Both our left hooks pack quite a punch, apparently." He flashed her his best grin, a melodramatic tone rolling off his tongue. "Fate has brought our kindred spirits—"

Another fist to his jaw shut him up quite nicely, Emma observed.

"Bloody _hell_, woman!"

"There's more where that came from. So don't push me."

Hook straightened, drawing away from her but keeping his stormy gaze on her. Emma didn't doubt he would have a blackened jaw by morning—if not in the next few minutes. "I should warn you, love, I came armed."

"Please tell me you aren't referring to the innuendo sword you threatened to _jab_ me with."

"Saucy wench, wouldn't you like to know?" he growled, brushing past her with his hand still favoring his jaw. He was stalking rapidly towards her door, his boots echoing in tandem with her racing heart. Was he actually _leaving_? She wanted to strangle the sudden flood of disappointment she felt. She forced herself to sigh in relief. This was what she wanted. To be left alone. Emma winced—in watching him wrench open the door, she had unconsciously fisted her hand. A fresh stain of blood was blooming through the bandage. She turned her back on the door. She didn't want to see him go. Emma took long strides back up the stairs to her bedroom as the front door slammed shut behind her. Something in her gut twisted but she ignored it. Instead, she grabbed fresh clothes and headed into the bathroom where she turned on the shower with short, jerky movements, minding her palm. She reached down and took the hem of her shirt in one hand, about to pull it over her head, when she heard a dark chuckle behind her that nearly sent her heart to her throat.

"If I'd known _this_ was where the night was headed…"

Emma whirled around, cheeks blushing with embarrassment. "What the _hell_?!"

Hook was staring just inside her bathroom door. At her shocked expression, he promptly lifted a pumpkin-shaped plastic container, strung over his hook, with something wrapped in aluminum foil and what looked like a DVD case in his hand. On closer inspection, it looked like a recent version of _Halloween, _with Michael Myer's face plastered all over the cover. "I'd left them in the hallway: my choice of weaponry, as suggested by your lad and the diner's grandmother. Though, your mother had doubts about this specific box," he gestured toward the DVD, confusion pulling at the corners of his mouth. He glanced back up at her, brows raised. Waiting for her to say something. To accept. To reject. She wasn't sure, but she had the distinct feeling he wasn't going anywhere. And, oddly, she was relieved.

"Do you even know how to work that thing?"

"As it so happens, I am an _expert_ at," he paused, glancing down, "_dee vay days_," he annunciated awkwardly. Emma suppressed a grin.

"Look, lass, it was either this, or I was instructed to cart your lovely ass on a bout of treat-or-tricking. Regardless, you're _quite_ stuck with me."

"My parents put you up to this," Emma stated bluntly. The steam from the shower was beginning to make it uncomfortably hot in her tiny bathroom, but she couldn't erase the twinge she felt at the way the mist looked swirling around him. And his tight shirt. And even tighter pants.

"What can I say, I love a challenge," he droned, sounding bored. He carefully placed the foiled package and DVD in the pumpkin's head before drawing his finger against the foggy mirror. She didn't even look to see what he was writing.

"I need to shower. And that's not an invitation. So get out."

"Yes, I'll just be downstairs thinking about how _steamy_ things have gotten between us." He strolled out, leaving a ripple of fog in his wake. Emma slammed the door and glanced at the mirror. In a curvy script, he'd written, _Think of me, love._ She glared at the words before carefully erasing the message pointedly with her middle finger.

_Think of _this_. _

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Emma headed down the stairs in a pair of jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. Hook had swept up the remaining pieces of vase and was settled on the couch with a heap of torn, empty candy wrappers steadily piling up next to him. He glanced up when he heard her. Fortunately, his jaw had not swollen up like a balloon, though she had a feeling there was bruising beneath his scruff of hair.

"Thank the gods you've returned, lass. Here, take these away from me," he stretched his hooked arm out with the pumpkin container filled with candy. "I have to watch my figure," he grinned cheekily at her, fluttering his lashes.

Emma rolled her eyes, plucking the bowl off his hook and setting it on the kitchen counter for Henry. "And you thought _revenge_ was addictive," she chuckled.

"Those alphabet candies are positively sinful," he agreed, wrapping a hand over his middle.

Emma sat down on the opposite end of the couch, the pile of candy separating them. She glanced at the mountain of wrappers. _M&M_'s. She looked back up to find him staring at her. No smolder, just watching her carefully, his eyes a storm of questions.

"—So do you want to watch the movie?"

"—I'm sorry about Neal, love."

They both spoke simultaneously, both clamming up the moment they realized they were each on a different track of mind. Emma avoiding. Hook confronting.

She shut her eyes, massaging the bridge of her nose. "I really don't want to talk about it right now."

Hook was quiet for a moment, idly picking at the candy wrappers. "You should know, Emma, I would have taken his place in a heartbeat. Had there been enough time." Emma cracked her eye open at him. His words, she realized, weren't just referencing Neal's death. They were meant for Neal's life as well. Sacrificial and devoted. Just like the Hook he had begun to present himself as in Neverland. _So_ different from the man she had pegged him to be.

"I have a feeling," Emma spoke, no longer looking at him as she acknowledged his confession, "that I would be sitting in this exact same position, only with Neal on your end." _I would still be grieving,_ was what she was trying to say. It was a grim realization that, had their places been switched, her heart would still be tearing in two. She recognized that it _was_ fate. That this was how it was supposed to be. And, perhaps, she should have been grateful for who was _still_ in her life. Hook had fought so hard for Henry and her family, had worked so hard to help her get him back, get them _all_ back safely and alive. And they had won, at the cost of Neal. But sitting there, knowing that Hook had struggled by her side—she wasn't so sure it _wasn't_ Hook she wanted on that couch instead of Neal.

Hook's eyes softened. "Emma, love, we need to get you out of here." His tone was fervent, rushed, as if he truly were trying to save her. She wished she could let him.

"I can't." She looked down, desperate to change the subject. "We have a movie to watch."

He frowned. "I'll make a wager with you."

Emma quirked a brow. Encouraging him.

"I'll wager that if you correctly guess what's hidden in this package," he lifted the aluminum foil, "we stay in. And I shan't say another word about drawing you out of your doom-and-gloom evening. If you guess incorrectly," his grin was menacing, "we go out. In All Hallows' Eve style."

"That bet isn't fair."

"Ah, so the lass gives up, does she?"

"No, I meant it's not fair to _you_," Emma smiled sadly. "I already know what it is."

Hook folded his arms, arching a delicate brow. "I highly doubt—"

"Pumpkin bread."

"You _are_ a little witch," Hook grumbled. Emma watched him turn to fiddle with the remote and DVD case.

"Granny has been baking it for weeks now and keeps sending it over," she gestured toward the aluminum mountain slowly growing on top of the refrigerator. Hook bared his teeth at the offending case, choosing to take out his anger on the plastic wrapping.

Emma actually felt sorry for him.

"Alright, how about this…if you can make the television work, and start the movie, I'll change and we'll go."

"Costume of my choice."

Emma froze at his abruptness. "What?"

He looked up at her, a mysterious spark in his eyes. "You dress in a costume of my choice."

There was no way he could possibly master the art of turning on the DVD player—the man couldn't even properly pronounce _dee-vee-dee._ She figured, at best, he would accidentally poke around at the buttons, maybe get the damn thing on, and then he would hit a wall. She shrugged. "Sure, fine. On the off chance you win, though, nothing too revealing. Don't want to send Charming to an early grave. Or put any ideas in Henry's mind. Kid is growing up too fast, and I kind of like his naïve nature."

"I wouldn't dream of revealing you to anyone but myself," his voice was husky and threatening, an edge of possessiveness to it that sent an icy shiver racing down Emma's spine. She clenched her teeth and swallowed back a torrent of emotions. Emotions that made her want to lay back and let him do what he had been threatening to do since the moment he'd met her right there on that couch, amidst a sea of candy wrappers. She blamed it on her grief. _Goddamn vulnerability_.

She held her hand out for him to shake. "We have a deal then?"

His hand ghosted over hers before entwining their fingers and giving them a squeeze. "We have an accord," he agreed, taking his time in pulling his hand back. She tried to ignore the way his finger nails stroked the inside of her palm as he drew his hand back. He quickly set to work.

Hook made his way to the DVD player, pressed _Open_, and promptly popped open the case before setting the movie inside. He gave it a nudge with his hook, turning on the TV with the flick of the remote. Emma's mouth ran dry. He changed the input to _DVD_. She watched in horror as he swiftly skipped through the warnings and previews before finding the _Main Menu_ and pressing _Play_.

Her jaw dropped.

Hook whirled around and pressed _Pause_, flashing her a very evil, very sly grin. "Shall we?" He offered his arm. Emma wanted to wipe that damn smirk off his face.

"How the hell did you do that?!" she screeched, shooting to her feet. Hook reached around him and deftly withdrew a small pamphlet out of his back pocket she hadn't noticed before. He waved it in front of her face. She snatched it out of his hand, eyes narrowed.

"You read the _instruction manual?!_"

"I've taken an interest in your world. Besides, what else was a man supposed to do while waiting for his woman to finish bathing herself?"

"_No_ man _ever_ reads the instruction manual." Emma had half a mind to marry him on the spot. She quickly squandered that thought, shaking her head. "And I'm _not_ your woman."

"Ah, ah, ah, _tonight_ you are mine."

Emma's face blanched.

"All Hollow's Eve is about pretending to be something you are not, correct, princess?" he asked sweetly.

Her mouth felt as dry as cotton balls. She watched him practically skip to where he had a rather large bag hidden next to the sofa. Something pink was poking out. With ruffles. And glitter.

_Oh._

_God._

"A deal's a deal, sweet. Back down now and you'll have to risk putting up with _me_ for the rest of your life. As you know, I've courted revenge for a rather long time. I _live_ for the very definition of payback."

Emma couldn't think.

She snatched the bag out of his hand, marched up the stairs slightly louder than intended, and slammed the door shut behind her. She opened the bag and shook her head.

_I'm going to kill him._

* * *

Screaming laughter filled the chilly night air around her as Emma made her way down the sidewalk. She would like to have said she had no idea how things had turned out like this, but to be honest, she knew _exactly_ how, and it was all her own damn fault. And a certain pirate's, who had completely conned her into it. The ruffles had been a ruse, thank God, but it still wasn't enough to mask the horror that lay underneath. When she had finally put on the finishing touches to the outfit, she made her way down the staircase with Hook waiting at the bottom, flashing her a genuine smile. She glowered at him, begrudgingly taking his proffered arm and following him out the door with an empty pumpkin bucket dangling over her…hook.

Emma stared down at it. Completely furious. And bewildered as to how on _earth_ he managed to do anything with such an impending object for a hand.

She tripped suddenly over an uneven bump in the pavement. Hook steadied her, allowing her to lean her weight against him. He glanced down at her, grinning like the devil he was. "Having trouble, milady?"

"I can't see out of this Goddamn eyepatch. And how do you even function with…_this_?!" she snarled, waving her left hook about. The bucket swung wildly around before gravity settled it back in place. She stared out of one eye before sighing and continuing their stroll. "I hate you."

"Actually, I'd have to disagree, love. I think I'm growing on you," he boasted.

"The only thing that's growing is my list of reasons to sic Charming on your ass."

"_Mom?!_" The familiar word was elongated with confusion. The even more familiar voice had completely snuck up behind her. Emma whirled, taking Hook with her.

"Oh, hey, kid."

His face broke out into a grin, looking her up and down. "Hey, cool, we match!"

Emma sighed, refusing to acknowledge the tight leather pants that clung to her body, the fake plastic sword dangling at her waist, the black poet's shirt whose thin material barely served _any_ purpose and whose sleeves came to a short stop at her shoulders. She wasn't even going to start on the leather corset that was _barely_ keeping anything together, let alone _in_. She also swore the eye patch was cutting off her circulation and actually dumbing down her defenses enough to _consider_ Hook as anything more than…well, Hook. The boots, though—the boots she could live with.

"I lost a bet," she defended herself, just as Mary Margaret and David appeared. David had a deep, frown set permanently into his face, so it seemed. And Mary Margaret was beaming. As if she had actually…

_Oh._

…set them up.

She made a mental note to remind Mary Margaret that it wasn't Valentine's Day yet. And that she was fired from all future endeavors to play Cupid.

"C'mon, Mom, we've got a few more houses. I hear Mr. Gold's _loaded_ with king-sized everything!"

Hook snorted. Emma tightened her grip painfully on his arm, smiling at Henry. "Then let's go, kid."

Henry shot off, Mary Margaret and David close behind. Mary Margaret continued to shoot mischievous smiles at Emma and she continued to ignore them. Hook slowed down his pace, forcing Emma to hold back with him.

"For what it's worth, love," he spoke quietly, "I was right."

"About what?" she asked, distracted, as a little Snow White rushed past with even littler dwarves trailing after her. It was almost cute. Almost.

He halted her, turning Emma to face him.

"You make an excellent pirate."

He bowed his head, keeping his steel-blue eyes on hers. He slowly, gently brushed his lips across her mouth.

It was Emma, though, who closed the distance. She used her hook to direct his head closer to hers, fusing their mouths together in an unbreakable kiss. She pressed up against him, allowing herself to enjoy the feel of his body, rigid and drawing her into his warmth. He hauled her against him, his hand tangling in her hair as he searched her mouth, breathing her in like air. Her hand found his jaw and she cupped it gently, careful not to press too hard on where she had hit him. He pulled back abruptly. He allowed his head to rest against hers quietly as he attempted to calm his breathing. "Killian," she breathed. He tightened his grip on her in response to his name. His eyes, though, had flickered to the side, and he was suddenly grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"I believe we have company."

Emma glanced over.

A little girl in a pink, princess costume stood before her, off to the side, mouth agape. Glitter, ruffles, and diamonds covered the girl from head to toe, the outfit completed by a tiara and a wand that was flashing pink lights. In one tiny, silk-gloved hand she clutched a sack stuffed to the brim with candy. In the other, she held another hand. Emma's eyes traveled up from the fingers adorned with rings, past the thick sleeve to the leather trench coat that pooled on the ground around a pair of small boots and black pants. It was a boy, and he had taken the time to carefully draw in black marker around his eyes, outlining them. With the same black marker, he had drawn squiggly lines along his jaw line, beneath his lips and across his upper lip. He, too, had a silver hook trapped to his left hand, but it looked more real than plastic.

Both children may as well have been catching flies. Their mouths were wide open at the spectacle they had been exposed to.

Killian chuckled. Emma turned her attention back to him, rising up on tiptoe to press her lips to his before speaking around them. "If you say a damn thing about fate, I'm going to impale you."

"Is that a _promise_?" he hissed back saucily.

Emma's eyes flashed before she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. She pulled back to smile at the kids and usher them in the direction of Gold's house. They followed, arm in arm, the feel of Killian's lips still burning on hers.

**x**

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**Review?**

**I hope everyone had a happy Halloween! **


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